


two hearts on a cold street

by juliansweigl



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, manu needed the BIGGEST hug after the game, this is just... sad, thomas is also just the best boyfriend but we know this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 16:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliansweigl/pseuds/juliansweigl
Summary: It kills him. The second that the third goal hits the back of the net and the Liverpool players run off to celebrate them all but securing their place in the last eight of the Champions League.or, the aftermath of the Champions League defeat.





	two hearts on a cold street

**Author's Note:**

> i......... hate Liverpool with every ounce of me. fuck them but also thank u to them because without them (ugh) this wouldn't exist? 
> 
> anyway, Manu deserves a big hug and I hope Thomas gave him one :) (also s/o to Meggie for helping me out with this, you're the best!)

It kills him. The second that the third goal hits the back of the net and the Liverpool players run off to celebrate them all but securing their place in the last eight of the Champions League.

 

Mats sighs, looking dejected as he brushes a hand through his hair and turns away from the celebrations - knowing full well he should have got to that ball first.

 

Manu doesn’t even react, just grabs the ball and throws it out towards the centre circle; feeling that familiar crushing feeling of defeat smacking against his chest as the Allianz Arena falls quiet amongst the sound of four thousand Englishmen celebrating.

 

Manu doesn’t know he’s here but he can sense it, it would be stupid not to assume that his national team coach is somewhere up in the stands watching, judging him, judging his mistiming for the first goal - he’s probably got a red pen and is crossing through Manu’s name as he thinks this.

 

Manu feels the captain’s armband tightening against his bicep as though it’s a blood pressure cuff and it’s trying to cut off his circulation completely. He feels sick, trying to school his expression as he thinks about Thomas somewhere up in the stands - a forlorn expression tugging at his features, focusing solely on Manu - it almost makes Manu laugh a bitter laugh as the game restarts.

 

Some boos ring around the stadium at the full time whistle but mostly it’s the jubilation of Liverpool fans and the heartache of his teammates - some of whom lie on the pitch with tears and dashed European dreams in their eyes. Manu keeps his head down, shaking hands with the opposition - laying a gentle hand on Mats’ shoulder and carefully resting his hand on the back of Leon’s neck in passing. He doesn’t dare look up, too scared that he might catch the disappointed eyes - the angry eyes of fans who believe he’s past it.

 

As soon as he’s down in the tunnel away from the cameras and prying eyes; the tears start. He managed to keep them under wraps during the long walk but now he can’t hold back and he barely manages to choke back the sob in his throat as he rips the armband off and throws it to the floor in despair.

 

Serge and Leon watch on, fiddling with their sleeves as they watch their captain losing a fight with his own head in the middle of the tunnel. Manu’s legs are shaky and he stares down at the discarded armband - it looks foreign, as though it doesn’t belong to him and Manu just about stops the scoff from rising any further.

 

Manu kicks the armband out of his sight and storms through the tunnel, the corridors but ignores the dressing room completely - he can’t. His head is down as he walks, hands balled into fists as hot tears stream down his cheeks and show no signs of stopping.

 

He was _so fucking stupid_ to run out for the first goal, he probably had a chance if he would have just stayed on his line but _no -_ you can’t change a style of play, not after this long. He can see social media, see the newspapers tomorrow - the headlines all about the defeat, about _how_ he screwed up with letting Liverpool get that coveted first away goal, blaming him, tearing into him. Manu sobs once more as he backs up against the nearest wall, his chest clenching to the point where it’s so tight that he can’t breathe.

 

His lips quiver as he tries to muffle his sobs in his hands, his sleeves soaked with tears as he feels the weight of every one of his teammates and every single Bayern fan pressing down against his shoulders.

 

_He let them down. He’s the reason for their disappointment. He’s the reason that his team are going to be crucified beyond belief come eight o’clock tomorrow morning (and that’s being kind)._

 

Manu feels his body becoming heavy, barely able to handle his own weight when he feels two hands holding him up, a forcefulness to them as he meets a pair of mismatched eyes, eyes that he’s been in love with for years, eyes that are full of concern.

 

“ _... Thomas_.”

 

Manu slumps and falls against Thomas’ body, arms grasping at the coat, fingers unable to get a good grip as he feels his knees buckle and Thomas reacting quicker than most to grab the majority of his boyfriend’s body weight and lower them both down to the floor.

 

Thomas’ back is pressed against the wall as Manu sits beside him, sobs subsiding as he hiccups and tries to focus on the way that Thomas is rubbing small circles into the back of his hand.

 

“I’m sorry. _God_. I lost the game, as soon as that first goal went in, that mistake-” Manu rambles, lips beginning to quiver once more as Thomas wraps Manu in his arms - still yet to say a word. “I should-”

 

“- You did everything you could.” Thomas’ voice is hoarse, probably from shouting during the game. “They’re a good team, they’re not fighting for the Premier League because they’re average.”

 

Manu stares at Thomas through blurry eyes and finally sees his face, sees the disappointment tugging at every one of his features. The heartbreak of being knocked out of a competition. The last hope for Germany in the Champions League and it’s gone.

 

“Stop doing that.” Thomas admonishes mildly, a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he taps the side of Manu’s head. “You know just as well as I do that you have just been outplayed tonight.”

 

“In our own stadium.” Manu scoffs, the words feeling bitter on his tongue.

 

Thomas shrugs. “Ah, well, it’s one of those nights that we put down as to forget. They happen.”

 

Manu doesn’t even realise he’s crying again until he feels tears on his cheeks and he’s burrowing his face in Thomas’ coat before he realises - forgoing caring about who sees them.

 

Thomas sighs heavily and Manu feels the way his boyfriend’s chest rises and falls as Thomas lifts his hand to card through Manu’s sweaty, matted hair.

 

“Schatz, it’s okay.” Thomas soothes, it’s a pretty pitiful thing to say considering but Thomas can feel his own chest constricting at Manu’s shaky breaths and soft cries. “Nobody blames you. I don’t, the boys don’t, the fans don’t-”

 

“- That’s where you’re wrong!” Manu snaps, lifting his head and focusing on Thomas, fury behind his eyes. “You think I don’t know I’m next?! You think just because I’m captain - I have a free ticket to stay here, to stay on the national team because I don’t!”

 

Thomas winces, his arm slipping from Manu’s shoulders to the cold floor. He tries to remain emotionless but he can’t help the flash of hurt on his face as he thinks about the last ten days and the pressure on his boyfriend, the way Manu is fighting for his own career.

 

Manu breathes, exhaling and inhaling before collapsing against the wall, relief flooding his veins at the coolness of the wall behind his head.

 

“... I didn’t help matters.”

 

“It could have been so much worse without you.” Thomas tries, bracing himself for another scoff but it doesn’t come. “Love you, you big goof.”

 

_There it is,_

 

The smallest hint of a smile on Manu’s lips _._ Thomas leans in and wraps his arm around Manu’s shoulders once more - unsurprisingly the exhaustion has become to catch up with Manu and he rests his head against Thomas’ shoulder without complaint.

 

“We would be lost without you, _I_ would be lost without you.” Thomas’ voice shakes as he speaks, he doesn’t always allow the insecurity to take over but he _despises_ Manu blaming himself for this. “You’re so much better than you think you are. One game doesn’t disprove that.”

 

Manu sighs, nuzzling his face deeper and balling Thomas’ coat up in his fist.

 

“Hey, look at me.” Thomas’ voice is soft and he gently nudges Manu’s chin. Manu lifts his chin, rolling his eyes but he lifts his gaze anyway, and Thomas smiles at him, almost a bit surprised when Manu tilts his head.

 

Thomas lifts his hand to rest against Manu’s cheek, Manu flinching slightly at the coldness of his hand before he relaxes. Thomas wavers a little but he steadies himself long enough to melt into the kiss he gives him. It’s chaste, short and salty with Manu’s tears.

 

“I love you, Kapitän.” Thomas murmurs, lips barely inches away from Manu’s, pads of his fingers caressing his boyfriend’s cheek, brushing over the stubble and tear stains that are still prominent. “ _Always._ Now go and tell those boys how proud of them you are.”

 

“Come with me.” Manu blurts out without thinking.

 

Gradually, the faintest hint of a smile forms on Thomas’ lips. “Okay.”

 

Thomas notices the armband still lying on the floor once they’re close to the dressing room and goes to retrieve it, shaking his head fondly as he imagines the way Manu tore it off once out of sight. Manu has the decency to look guilty once Thomas approaches him, unable to react when Thomas places it carefully back upon his bicep. Fingers twisting in the fabric of the jersey.

 

“You have this.”

 

Manu gnaws on his lips, the _silence_ coming from inside the home dressing room does nothing to ease the panic still clutching at his chest. He can’t. He physically and mentally cannot step inside that dressing room and look into the eyes of the teammates he’s disappointed tonight.

 

Thomas heaves a sad sigh, rubbing his hand across his forehead before focusing his attention on Manu.

 

“You okay?”

 

Manu gnaws harder.

 

“Sweetheart-” Thomas whispers, voice barely audible as he glances around and notices that they’re not the only ones downstairs anymore. “They’re waiting for you.” Thomas pushes lightly, not wanting to spook him, if they were in _any_ other situation Thomas thinks he’d laugh at the comparison to approaching a wild animal.

 

“Can’t do it.” Manu replies with a subtle shake of his head. “They’re crushed, Thommy. I can’t try to soften this. I _started_ this.” Manu goes back to chewing on his lips.

 

“You don’t have to say a lot, nobody expects it - just a few words, you can mumble for all I care.” Thomas tries, wrapping his hand around Manu’s arm, fingers twisting in the material of his sleeve.

 

Manu nods, though it could barely constitute one, it’s so subtle that Thomas just about sees it.

 

Thomas lets his arm drop back down to his side when Manu walks into the dressing room, Thomas trailing. Manu has his head down and his breathing is slightly heavier than it usually is, Thomas manages a small smile when he catches the eyes of various teammates ( _that red card against Ajax is hitting him incredibly hard right now_.)

 

“I’m sorry, boys.” Manu manages to get out, despite his bottom lip shaking and his voice raspy. “We fought hard, they knew they had a point to prove after not being able to take advantage at home - they were just the better team tonight. We need to keep our heads up, Sunday is another game.”

 

Thomas inches closer, their arms are brushing and Manu suddenly feels as though he isn’t going to break down in the next thirty seconds.

 

Manu feels a strange sense of relief afterwards, his captain duties over and done with for the night; Thomas leaves with the reassurance that he’s going to be waiting outside for Manu once he’s done, ready to go home and put this dreadful defeat behind them. Manu doesn’t think he’s ever felt so ready to just go home and forget all about the outside world for a few hours at least.

 

Stepping outside into the brisk, slightly bitter (Manu resists the ironic eye roll) wind, he drops his gaze to the ground to avoid the iciness of the wind hitting his face as he makes his way over to the car, where Thomas is standing leaning against it and waiting.

 

“You good?”

 

“I just want to go home.” Manu mumbles, extending his hand for the car keys that Thomas hands over wordlessly. “I just want to forget.”

 

The drive back home is silent apart from the sound of the engine and the few cars that are still on the road away from the city, and their breathing. Thomas fidgets, unable to get comfortable in the car as he focuses his attention on Manu and how his jaw is clenched as his hands are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel - completely lost in thought, driving on autopilot it would seem.

 

They both know this feeling well, it’s not the first time they have had their European dreams crushed and snatched from them. They have had it in much worse circumstances too-

 

\- It doesn’t mean it becomes any easier to deal with.

 

The engine dies and just before Manu can pull the key out of the ignition and get out of the car; Thomas’ hand is on his arm stopping him. Manu sighs shakily before twisting and turning to face Thomas, the latter frowns when in the streetlights and moonlight shining through the windows of the car does he see just how _broken_ Manu looks. Fighting back tears once more, struggling to keep his emotions in check now that he’s definitely not within a chance of being caught out by somebody other than his boyfriend.

 

Brushing the pads of his thumbs underneath Manu’s eyes. Thomas feels his chest constricting when he realises he has a pretty small chance of being able to make this better - he didn’t play, either game, was only a spectator at Anfield when they came away with high hopes and positive determination that they could win the home game, to being a spectator in his own stadium as he watched his teammates, his friends, his _love_ falling to a heartbreaking defeat.

 

Manu catches Thomas’ palm before he can withdraw his hand completely and presses a gentle kiss to the base of Thomas’ palm.

 

The house is soaked in darkness when they walk through the door, not bothering to switch the light on, just toeing off their shoes and leaving their coats on the hooks in the hallway before padding across the squeaky wood flooring and into the living room.

 

Thomas flops down on the couch, grumbling when he lands on the TV remote, he tosses the device onto the coffee table and wraps his hand around the sleeve of Manu’s sweater - pulling him down too. Thomas lets out a soft groan when Manu’s head hits his chest heavily but still, he wraps his arms around the keeper nevertheless and intertwines their legs with ease. A routine that’s so simple but imbedded in both of their brains, the comfort that this simple thing brings the both of them is indescribable at the moment.

 

“You okay?” Thomas whispers, his voice sounding so fucking loud amongst the silence of the room.

 

His hand automatically, instinctively moves to card through Manu’s hair, palm tickling under the shorter, fluffier strands as Manu emits a content hum at the contact, or maybe it’s the answer to Thomas’ question - he isn’t sure.

 

“Better.” Manu mumbles out after a delay. “I guess. I’m just exhausted.”

 

“I know, love.” Thomas murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss against Manu’s forehead. “Should we go to bed?”

 

Manu harrumphs and cuddles in tighter to Thomas, effectively answering that question for him. Thomas knows they are both going to regret it in the morning when they have cricks in their necks and their backs are aching as though they’re double their age, but he can’t bring himself to disagree.

 

If this is what Manu needs right now then Thomas isn’t going to deny him it and maybe, just maybe, he needs it too.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://hoewedeshummels.tumblr.com) :’)


End file.
